


How Deep is the Red?

by Geonn



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bathtubs, Bisexual Character, Dirty Talk, Enemy Lovers, F/F, F/M, Masturbation, Memories, Missing Scene, Orgasm Control, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha takes a moment for herself between her interrogation and picking up Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Deep is the Red?

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I read spells the name Romanoff, so I went with that in the story. The tags were already Romanov, so I just left those alone.

Maria Hill eyed the torn stockings when Natasha arrived on the helicarrier, but her guarded expression didn't give anything away. Stoic, reserved, professional at all times, she simply informed her they would arrive at their destination in a few hours so she "had ample time to sleep and... freshen up." The pause was as much of a judgment as Maria was going to make, not that Natasha would have given her the satisfaction of responding to an actual dressing down. She just nodded her thanks and headed for her private quarters.

Even as a freelance, she was afforded a few luxuries. She had a private room and a private bath, something very few other agents could claim. She unzipped her little black dress and let it fall, perched a foot on the mattress to remove first one ruined stocking and then the other. She threaded the nylon through her fingers as she considered throwing it away, but then she eyed the posts of her headboard.

_"Let me go." The flash of anger in Maria's eyes all that betrayed how angry and turned on she really is._

_"Not until you scream." And then a tiny shock of her stinger to Maria's inner thigh, and Maria twists on the mattress, her wrists bound by Natasha's stockings. Stubbornly biting back a cry. Natasha will have to work for this one. She smiles, eager for it._

Natasha opened a drawer and put the stockings in alongside the other instruments she used to break down Maria's walls. She reached back with one hand, unhooked her bra, and pulled it off. She flicked her wrist and the straps wrapped around the towel rod as she lowered herself to the edge of the tub. She turned on the water and let it run as she lifted her hips and slid her panties down her legs. She brushed them aside with her foot and used the mirror on the back of the door to examine her wounds.

Scraps. Bruises here and there. A wound on her right knee that would require bandaging, but otherwise not bad for an interrogation. She turned and cupped her hand under the water, then brought her knee up and cleaned the reddened flesh. She keeps her bandages close, a necessity, but she won't dress her wounds until after the bath. 

Those in the know would call her tastes spartan. It was true, she didn't need very much to make her happy, but occasionally she liked to treat herself. Going undercover with Stark had given her the opportunity to wear expensive clothes and eat at fine restaurants. It was nothing she would ever get used to, and she would never give up her utilitarian rooms for a Cliffside mansion, but she would enjoy it when the opportunity presented itself. 

She pivoted on the side of the tub and kept her feet together as she lifted them off the floor and dipped them into the water. She controlled her descent with hands on either side of the tub, enveloped by the warmth. She leaned forward to shut off the water and leaned back, her breasts dripping from their brief submersion, and she brushed her fingers over the wet nipples. They strained at her touch, puckering and hard as she pinched them. Her eyes closed as she teased herself, her breasts and bent knees forming four islands in the otherwise mirror-flat surface of her bath. 

_"Who are you punishing?"_

_She looks around to see what prompted his question and then answers truthfully. "No one."_

_Clint looks at her. "You can't be comfortable living like this."_

_"I'll show you how comfortable it can be."_

Natasha moved both hands to her cleavage, palms together like a prayer, and then ran them down the center of her chest. She closed her eyes as she pushed through the water, touching and then covering her pubic hair. She pressed the fingers of her right hand against her sex, covered them with the fingers of her left hand. Her arms pushed her breasts together, and she used her left hand to guide her right so that it felt like someone else was in control.

She couldn't forget that it was a woman's hand, a woman's fingers inside of her, so she banished the memory of Clint for the time being (too bleak anyway, too potentially morbid, considering the situation they were currently in) and focused on Maria and Pepper. One was dangerous, dark, turning sex into a battle. The other was timid and fresh, and blushed when she whispered, _"I've never done anything like this before."_

Maria filled her mind and she followed that thread. The confrontation that began in the locker room, Natasha wearing only a towel following a quick post-workout shower, her hair hanging in her face like limp spider webs. She brushed them away as she stepped around the corner and saw Maria standing in front of her locker, staring at the uniform that hung there. She turned, jaw tight and eyes cold.

_"This is what I worked my entire life for. This job, this place... and you waltz in, just barely avoiding a bullet between the eyes, and everyone welcomes you with open arms. You understand how... completely blasphemous... that is to me?"_

_Natasha steps forward, shorter than Maria in bare feet, dripping on the tile as she tilts her head up to look into the agent's eyes. "Are you mad at me for doing it, or mad at yourself for wasting your time?"_

_The first blow takes Natasha by surprise. She falls, but uses the angle of her fall to shove her foot into Maria's unprotected middle. Natasha recovers first, spinning on her hands and barely feeling the towel dropping from her. Nude, she pounces. Her arm meets Maria's throat, and Natasha wraps around her body as gravity pulls them both down. Natasha controls their fall, hitting the ground with a minimum of pain, and uses her body to pillow Maria's head._

_Twisted on the floor, Maria's head against her breast, Natasha stares down at her and lowers her head. Maria resists the kiss at first, but then she thrusts her tongue into Natasha's mouth. Natasha rearranges her position on the floor. Maria lays flat, and Natasha scrambles over her. Their bodies inverted, Maria bites Natasha's thigh. Natasha presses her mouth against the crotch of Maria's jumpsuit and presses hard with her tongue against the material._

_Natasha's first orgasm at Maria Hill's hand is violent, accompanied by bruises and aches that take a while to make themselves known, and their future couplings are no different. Sometimes Natasha lets Maria take her. More frequently, Maria allows herself to be taken. Years of being the good girl aren't forgotten easily._

Natasha used three fingers to circle her clit. "Scream for me, Maria," she whispered. She was breathless, her submerged movements making gentle waves in the tub. "I want to hear you scream. I want to hear you beg..."

_"Fuck you..."_

_Their faces inches apart, Natasha can see the line, the crack in Maria's resolve. She has three fingers inside of Maria now, but she adds a fourth and Maria arches off the bed. She chokes on the cry she's holding back, tears in the corners of her eyes. Natasha folds her palm and presses her thumb against Maria's clit. Thrusting with her fingers, circling with her thumb, Natasha moves her entire body as she fucks Maria hard, sweat dripping off her, blending with Maria's before trickling down her curves and onto the mattress._

_Maria's bottom lip trembles. "Ah..."_

_Natasha's lips part and she wets them with her tongue. "Let go."_

_Maria arches her back and parts her lips and she doesn't scream._

_She howls._

Natasha's own orgasm was nearing, the fantasy pushing her closer to the edge. She came with the image of Maria's face in her mind; cheeks and upper lip beaded with sweat, eyes closed, breathing hard and trembling from her loss of control. Natasha pressed her tongue against her upper lip and lifted her hips to press them hard against her palm, pressing the fingers of one hand into her sex with the other hand. 

She held the image of Maria, a fully-released Maria spread eagle on twisted sheets, until her body relaxed. She let her arms float, the backs of her hands breaching the surface and glistening. Now that her mind was free, her mind slipped back to Barton and the new situation. She owed him, but she never imagined she would be asked for something so monumental, so epic, to repay her debt. But was it enough? Even going to these extremes, was it enough to completely erase what she owed? 

Her mind told her no. It would be just a drop in the bucket, a minute push against the sea of red she carried on her soul. She lifted her hands and watched water stream down her fingers, ten miniature waterfalls coursing over her knuckles and spilled back into the bath. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the edge of the tub, her body relaxed, her mind calm. She pictured Clint and heard his voice, heard him panting in her ear...

_"Come for me."_

Her lips ticked a little at that. Not quite the context he'd meant, but she was going to follow his command as she had on that dark, cold night in Budapest. She was going to come for him, she was going to rescue him. And whatever that damnable false god had done, she was going to open his eyes to who he really was. He was a hero, and she was going to remind him of that or die trying.

The bath grew cold, so Natasha pushed herself up and out of the water. She wrapped herself in a towel and walked into the bedroom. She wanted to be well-rested when they arrived at their destination.

She had a monster to catch.


End file.
